


step by step

by mindwalker



Series: khrfest round V [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindwalker/pseuds/mindwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He cannot think about it. [The beginning of Future arc. Written for prompt: Basil – battlefield; “no one comforts him about the blood on his hands.”]</p>
            </blockquote>





	step by step

_War and courage have done more great things than charity._

 _Not your sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims._

 _Friedrich Nietzsche “Thus Spake Zarathustra”_

 

He was brought to CEDEF as a shell of a person — a child, a pre-teen, a mute nameless shadow. Turmeric thought him broken beyond any hope of recovery. Oregano assumed he’d stay at the HQ and never see the field. Lal Mirch (he was all too tired and empty to be surprised at her appearance) looked at him — an unreadable stare from behind her goggles — and said “His chances are next to zero, but I’ll commence his training right away while Iemitsu is out”.

So he started learning. How to jog hours without running out of breath, how to build a fire without matches, how to fall without bruising, how to dodge without losing sight of the enemy. How to throw a punch. How to stab, how to stop, how to hide. Simple things, but so very necessary.

He still didn’t know what to expect when that “Iemitsu” person comes.

 

He is now “Basilicum”. It isn’t what he’d like to call himself, he thinks it too eye-catching for an agent, but at least is resembles an actual name. Master calls him “Basil”, so he supposes it’s fine. His first trainer (Lal Mirch she was called, obviously not a name also) called him simply “boy”. Or “brat” when she was dissatisfied with something.

“I’ve a new task for you,” Master says one day, long after and brings out a casket. “Take these to my son Tsunayoshi.”

 

Basil was supposed to board the plane from Japan with Lancia-dono, but suddenly there’s a lot of strange-colored smoke and he’s in a whole different place under a slowly brightening night sky and oh — he’s been here before, it’s the Atlantic coast of Spain, but _how?!_

He has no explanation.

But there’s a small jewelry-like cube box with a ring on the top, and some papers; sweet Mother of God, an ID card with a passport under a fake name but with his photo on them. There are plane tickets as well: from Heathrow to Narita at July 21st 2015 and from El Prat, Barcelona to London for an earlier date. Whenever that is, he supposes, it must be not far from now. He is in the future, whether he likes to believe it or not. There is no place for doubt in him.

The ring with a pale blue stone is a bit loose, but otherwise fits him fine. The little box bears a proud inscription _CEDEF_ so, he assumes, must be also his. Basil doesn’t get anything what’s going on, but at least he’s sure that he’s supposed to be in Japan soon.

Also, there’s a guide-like note among the documents. He may not know a thing about here-and-now, but a manual always clears things up.

 

Basil is ambushed on the way to the airport, just when he thought he’s slipped through without trouble; he must have some real rotten luck with civilian airlines, he notes with some dry humor. The driver is killed on spot, and there’s no time to think anymore, so he grabs his backpack, thanking God he has no luggage, and busts through the door as the car starts spinning out of control.

He doesn’t know how many attackers are there, but no less than three, and they shouldn’t even be here, Millefiore has supposedly withdrawn from the region; but he couldn’t get in contact with anyone so all his intel is at least a week old. All the boy knows now is that city combat is about speed and nimble wits, not power, and as he’s no stranger to Flame, he has an actual chance to survive. Blue already flickering on his head, he hides in a narrow side-street and ignites the ring.

Basil is no fool — he stands no chance face-to-face with the enemy. Encounter with Squalo taught him much, he’ll use all he’s learned from that time. The guidebook explained how the Rain is not strong in the offensive, so he can’t attack head-on. Instead he lures them into a maze of little passages, slanted roofs and cobblestones, a bloody game of tag. He wraps them in flames so that their moves are getting sluggish, _liquid_ and finishes them quietly, one by one-two-three, and those two must be it, the last ones.

He aims his dagger into the heart of the far one and breaks the neck of the closer man before he can react to a blade swishing past him. The boy knows those moves by heart. He didn’t even need to put some through into the action — and for some reason it makes him feel so very dirty.

Basil slings his bag back on his shoulder and straightens himself. He needs another cab.

And to hide the bodies, so that they won’t be found at least until he’s out of the country.

 

It catches up to him only when the world is not colored in flames, when the terrible _(liberating)_ clarity of Hyper Dying Will mode fades. He’s safe and settled in his seat and a flight attendant offers him something to drink. He must look shaken, he thinks, looking at her sympathetic smile.

There’s not even a spot on his shirt and his hands are clean as well — he washed the grime away when he arrived at the airport. He wants no attention to himself, not when the continental Europe is apparently crawling with hostile mafia, and _Vongola_ is—

He cannot think about it.

And there are people dead because of him. That poor taxi driver who had nothing to do with all this. Five men he murdered and felt nothing about it. Enemies of the Family. It’s not their deaths he’s bothered with, whether they had families or friends or anything, they were killers anyway; it’s the fact that _he_ did it. He killed someone. People should not die so easily, he thinks, it’s too simple. There’s no one to back him up, to tell him what to do, to ask for an advice from. And he’s just killed someone.

He must not dwell on it. Sympathy never saved anyone. Not in Cosa Nostra.

What is truly important is protecting the Family. They’re alive, Basil must believe, even if he has no way to confirm it, they’ll be in Japan when he gets there. His last orders are to meet with the Guardians in Namimori, so he’ll follow. No room for hesitation. Family needs him, so he must get there.

And for that he has to survive first. Whatever the means.

Basil exhales and closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll catch some sleep during flight.

His hands feel sticky.

**Author's Note:**

> When I thought about it, I was horrified. Arriving Guardians were more or less led by the hand on the basics of the future world and combat. Even Hibari was given tips, courtesy of Kusakabe. But Basil? Got dumped all alone somewhere in Spain with a damn note. The only one to arrive alone except him was Chrome and look how that turned out - while she didn't get a manual, she was on home turf with no enemies in sight. And while I adore her, what does she do then? Nothing. Explanation or not, starving and waiting for gods know what is a bad idea.  
> While Basil figures everything out, gets himself to Japan half the world away and even fends off Millefiore on the way. Note the level of self-sufficiency and independency.


End file.
